Page 55

Damn, my little girl really didn’t need me anymore.

“You need to rest more,” I said softly. “No need to exert yourself because Yuriy and I are here. We can entertain ourselves.”

I hugged Yelena and kissed her forehead with a soft good night. I stared at the cards still on the table for a full minute, then forced myself to pick them up instead of grabbing my boots and calling a cab to take me to the hotel. I waited twenty minutes, taking my time to get dressed before leaving the house. All to prove to myself I had control over whatever would happen tonight.

Thirty minutes later, I stepped into the lobby of Castles Hotel, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets. I’d expected Yuriy to pick the kind of place that matched that filthy mouth of his—a seedy roadside motel with peeling wallpaper and a bed meant for sin.

A place that fit the way I imagined we’d come apart when our bodies collided.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Castles wasn’t seedy. Castles was opulence wrapped in winter velvet.

A uniformed bellhop stepped forward with a polished smile. “Good evening, sir. May I assist you?”

“No.”

I already had the key Yuriy had pressed into my palm earlier when he was leaving the house.

Inside the lobby, crystal chandeliers dripped light like molten gold. A marble fireplace crackled beneath a towering portrait. Velvet chairs and carved walnut tables waited like something out of a winter fairytale. Snow sifted past the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on warm lamplight.

This place wasn’t seedy. This wasn’t a fuck on a dirty mattress. This was intentionally decadent. A man planning a night he’d obviously put thought into.

And that got under my skin more than anything filthy ever could.

I rode the elevator up, heartbeat quickening when the panel lit Penthouse. He’d booked the most expensive room. A flutter kicked low in my stomach, annoyingly soft, impossible to push down. I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my mouth. Had Yuriy really gone all out? For… me?

A Do Not Disturb sign hung from the handle. My throat dried as I swiped the keycard. The lock clicked open, soft and inviting, and I stepped inside. Dim candles flickered in a small sitting room. A table set for two. Half-eaten meals. Two wineglasses, one still beaded with condensation.

Had I walked into the wrong room?

The soft swish of a door sounded, and laughter spilled through. The bartender from the other night—the one Yuriy had flirted with—strode in from the balcony with a skip in his damn step. He didn’t see me until he nearly collided with my chest.

He yelped. “Oh, shit. You made it!” His whole face lit up.

He was wearing a robe—only a robe.

Heat surged up my spine, hot and violent.

“I told Yuriy you’d come, but he didn’t believe me⁠—”

In two strides, I had him by the collar and slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle the framed artwork.

“What are you doing here?” I growled.

“When you didn’t show, Yuriy called me.” He clawed at my wrist, breath hitching. “Yuriy! A—little—help!”

I turned my head as Yuriy stepped through the balcony doors, cigarette in one hand, glass of ice in the other. He wore nothing but boxers, loose, low, and leaving absolutely fucking nothing to the imagination.

My stomach dropped. The fucker. I should have known I couldn’t trust him. My vision went sharp around the edges.

“You’re late.” Yuriy took a drag from the cigarette.

I tightened my grip on the bartender’s robe. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Yuriy shrugged. “You didn’t show, so I got a substitute.”

A substitute? He thought he could replace me that easily?